The Descent of Danny Fenton
by SBHY01
Summary: Samantha Fenton must survive her husband's descent into insanity and at the same time save her friends. You're-Not-So-Big's one-shot expanded.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING!**

Rough language, violence, and disturbing scenes.

**WARNING!**

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**The Descent of Danny Fenton**

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**Thursday, 9 PM**

"I thought I told you to stay out!"

Samantha cringed, her downcast purple eyes aimed at the hardwood panels on the floor. "I was—" she began, choking, "I was checking to see if you wanted dinner yet."

"Jesus Christ," Danny Fenton rolled his angelic blue eyes. "No! I don't!"

His wife only shook timidly. Her eyes met his for only a brief moment before she looked away.

"Can't you see?" Fenton asked. "Can't you see that every time you interrupt my work—…. It takes _time_ for me to go back—to fix what you've done! Why can't you just stay the hell out!"

Mrs. Fenton swallowed all the fear in her throat—a huge, golf ball-sized lump of emotion that bruised her esophagus as it went down. Her voice was thin even as she gave her husband a frown. "I'll be in the dining room, then."

She turned on her heels and left her husband to his patenting, breathing purposefully and slowly, quaking with each step.

It wasn't that she disliked her husband; no. She loved him. She loved him with all her racing heart. He had worked and worked and worked all his life—all for her. He had saved up his money and got her the house of her dreams. But then, when the economy turned, Danny was fired; they went under. The house was mortgaged, and Danny could no longer pay the bills. They had to sell.

But it wasn't the end for them.

Samantha smiled as she recalled the warmth of the one person her husband had been sure would never help.

On a cold, dark night—one of the last they would spend in their Victorian estate on the coast of South Carolina—the phone had chimed as she packed the last of their possessions in a thick cardboard box. She had picked it up and held it to her ear, folding a sweater of her husband's.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Manson," a drawling voice had replied.

She had paused, dropping the sweater to stand on her feet. "Vlad Masters…?"

Samantha searched through the loaded pantry to find the dry pasta. Vlad Masters had been so kind to them. He had offered them his Colorado vacation house—a house five times larger than the Victorian house in South Carolina. It was so very beautiful. The best part was that, in the winter, it was ski-in, ski-out. They could ski all day and then come home and have dinner. It was in a very remote and isolated part of the mountain, so it was rare that anyone ever bothered them.

Samantha sighed as she dumped the pasta into a pot on the stove. Sometimes, it did get a little lonely. Her husband was always involved in his work. He had decided to take up the family business and patent his parents' unpatented inventions as well as attempt to invent some of his own. He wasn't very good at inventing ghost weapons, and the patenting was all specific paperwork, so it took him a great deal of concentration and time to work. Sometimes he would work in his study for an entire day, and Samantha would be left all alone to clean the house, cook, and occasionally ski.

Whenever she interrupted him, he got angry. Samantha had learned for the most part to steer clear of him when he was at work. Some of it was natural anger, she supposed. If she was hard at work, she wouldn't want to be interrupted, either. But most of his anger, she knew, came from his ghost half. He rarely allowed himself to exercise, and she knew that having to take anything of his ex-archenemy's sorely hurt his pride.

She sat alone at the huge dining room table eating her pasta and listening to the winter wind howl at the window screens. Samantha stared absently out of the shaking window as she brought her fork to her mouth, though it was night and she couldn't see past the wooden second floor porch support.

She was almost finished when she heard her husband enter the room. She looked up.

"Well?" He took a seat across from her. "Where is it?"

She held up her index finger. "One sec; your dinner's still in the pot."

She stood up and left the dining room for the kitchen. After filling a gold-lined plate from the redwood cupboard with a generous amount of pasta, she brought it to the dining room and set it down on the table in front of her husband. She sat in her chair and watched him eat.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

His blue eyes met hers. "It's cold."

"Well, you were working," she deadpanned.

"I would have been done earlier," he said, "if I hadn't been interrupted."

Samantha ground her teeth together. "I was only trying to be nice."

"Just shut the hell up, Sam."

Samantha sucked in a breath of air, but otherwise didn't respond.

Danny continued pushing the pasta around his plate. "So, have you called yet?"

His wife blinked at the sudden change of atmosphere. "I was going to do it after dinner," she said.

"He's on Chicago time," Danny reminded her, looking at his watch. "It's getting late."

Samantha smiled. He usually never brought up her Thursday night calls. "Do you want to speak with him?"

"No."

She sighed and began clearing. After wiping down the wood of the table, she said, "You're sure?"

Danny stood up and, pushing his chair in, looked at his wife meaningfully. "Yes." He exited the dining room. "See you."

**10 PM**

Samantha stumbled into the foyer, where her favorite chair in the entire house sat on four paw-shaped legs. She curled up against the gold fabric and pulled the ancient phone on the end table into her lap.

Ever since Vlad had given them the house, out of respect she called the man every Thursday night to check up on him. Danny was, at first, opposed to this, but after a while, he gave up trying to convince his wife that Vlad didn't need checking up on. Eventually, Samantha had found that she looked forward to their chats. Mr. Masters was wealthy, like her parents had been, but unlike Mr. and Mrs. Manson, he was extremely intelligent and sometimes surprisingly funny. She had gotten used to talking to him, and he had gotten used to talking to her. It was a unique friendship.

Turning the dial several times, she waited for the phone to ring.

Nearly a thousand miles away, sitting on a reclining chair in his home in Madison, Wisconsin, Vlad Masters picked up the phone. "Hello, Samantha."

"Hello, Mr. Masters," she said with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you," he answered. "And you?"

"Um…." Samantha looked over her shoulder to make sure the room was completely empty. "I'm…okay—"

"What has he done now?"

Samantha sighed. "He hasn't really done anything," she explained. "It's just—I get lonely sometimes, and I'm—…."

"Yes?" She could almost picture the older man frowning. "Go on."

"I think," Samantha breathed. "I think I want to leave."

There was a slight pause. "You want to leave your husband?"

"No!" she said, almost offended by the thought. "I love him more than anything!"

"But you want to leave Colorado," Vlad deduced.

"I want to be able to make friends with neighbors and have people over for dinner," she explained. "I just feel so isolated."

"Well, that can be arranged quite easily. I haven't yet gotten around to selling my home in Amity Park," he explained. "You'll be able to see old friends who haven't left town."

"Who still lives there?"

"Well, for one, Valerie Gray," Vlad said with a chuckle. "Still protecting the town."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "That's just what we need."

Vlad laughed. "Danny seems to me like the type of person who needs a good, healthy dose of challenge in his life."

Samantha laughed with him. "Very true, Masters."

"I'll start having people clean the house up for you tomorrow," the older man said. "You can move in whenever you like."

"Vlad," Samantha sighed, twirling the phone cord around her finger. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"Anything for you, my dear," he replied. "You're the only one who calls to make sure I'm still alive."

Samantha grinned into the receiver. "Someone's got to look after you."

It was, indeed, a very unlikely relationship, Samantha decided as she hung up the phone, but it kept her sane.

She trailed into her bedroom to find her husband already asleep on his side of the bed. She changed into her nightgown and, after turning off the lights, climbed into bed beside him.

"Sam?" he queried tiredly in the dark. Sam could feel him roll closer to her.

She didn't answer.

"How'd it go?"

"The call?" she asked. "Vlad's doing okay."

There was a moment of silence. "Just okay?"

"Since when have you been this interested?"

"I…." Samantha listened to the inflection of his voice, but besides a slight crack, his tone was casual. "I don't know. I'm just curious."

Again, Samantha didn't know what to say, so she allowed his voice to trail off without answer.

"Sam?"

Samantha was almost annoyed, now. "What?"

"I love you." She heard him sniffle slightly. "You know that, right? I love you?"

She froze, turning over in the bed to look at him. She could almost see his blue eyes glowing beside her and a muscular arm snaked out towards her waist.

Looking into his eyes, she replied, "I love you too, Danny."

**Sunday, 8:30 PM**

Samantha was again eating dinner alone. This night, it was canned soup with old baguette. She was reading a book she had found in Vlad's bookshelf entitled "Relationships for Rich Creepy Dimwits." It wasn't really her type of thing, but she had found it rather funny when she saw an old bookmark sticking out of the middle and assumed that once upon a time, many years ago, Vlad had read it. The soft pitter patter of feet on carpet alerted her of her husband's approach.

"Honey?" she called.

Danny appeared around the corner. "What's tonight?"

"Chicken noodle," she replied, returning her attention to her book.

Danny sat down at his usual seat across from Samantha and sniffed his bowl of soup. He scrunched his nose. "Canned?"

Samantha only nodded absently as she read on.

"What's that?"

Samantha looked up to see her husband's brows furrowed together. "Hmm? What's what?"

"What's _that_?" He pointed at her book with his spoon. "What are you reading?"

"Oh." She flipped the book halfway closed so she could read the cover. "Just something I found."

"Why are you reading at the table?" came the unexpected response.

"I…," she started. "I was alone—"

"I work hard all day and my wife doesn't give me any attention at all!" he said.

"I didn't know you wanted my attention," she snidely remarked. "You were the one who told me to leave you alone!"

"What is it you're reading, anyway? One of Vlad's books?"

Samantha threw her hands into the air. "It doesn't matter!"

"Give me that." Danny snatched the book away from her and read the cover. "Oh, God," he moaned. "What the hell are you doing with this?"

"I just found it lying in the shelf, that's all!" Samantha was growing furious with Danny's confusing emotions.

Danny's eyes flicked from the book to his wife. "Do you know how sick this is?"

"Sick?" Samantha said. "Sick like how? It's just a normal book!"

"A normal book Vlad was reading when my mom was alive—when he _lured_ us to this house!"

"Calm down, Danny—I didn't know," Samantha whispered, lowering her eyes.

She raised them furiously when her husband mocked her shaking voice.

"Oh!" he cried in a falsetto voice. "You didn't _know_! Of course you didn't know!"

Samantha raised her hands into the air. "It's just a damn book, Danny!"

Danny's eyes flashed a malignant green and he slammed a glowing fist into the book. His hand left a burning hole in the hard back cover. Samantha jumped out of her chair, holding it in front of her in a defensive motion. Her purple eyes were wide with shock.

The corners of Danny's mouth turned downward and suddenly, her husband inhaled a long, shaky breath. "Oh, God," he whispered, his eyes returning to their natural color. "Sorry."

Samantha could only stare.

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, I—I don't know what happened."

"You're tired," she said, still whispering.

Her husband only shook his head. "This place—it's driving me crazy."

"Listen—" she began. "We can move. Vlad told me he's giving us his other house."

"Other house?" he echoed.

"The one in Amity Park. We'll be near friends and family," Samantha explained. "We won't be so isolated."

"I don't want to—"

"Of course you do, Danny—I do!" Samantha smiled encouragingly, though she still had a tight grip on the back of her chair. "Last I heard, Tucker's still there."

"Tucker…." Danny's face betrayed his nostalgia.

"And Valerie…."

He gave her a sardonic glare. "Right. Because that's exactly what I need."

Samantha laughed. "That's exactly what I said."

Danny slumped in his seat. "Moving here was such a mistake." Meeting her eyes, he continued, "Give me a week to tie up loose ends with the patenting."

Samantha couldn't keep the grin off of her face. "Really?"

"Yes." The frown returned to his face. "But don't bother me."

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This chapter was originally posted in You're-Not-So-Big's fic "A Vent For ADD." I split it in half because I know it will be hard for me to post a chapter as long as she did. I saw it and was like, "Snipe!" I love horror! And playing around with Danny's sanity... :) It just sounds like a great idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Descent of Danny Fenton**

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**Monday 5 PM**

Samantha heaved a cardboard box onto a table and slowly stood straight, massaging her aching back. Reaching for a glass of water on a nearby shelf, she sighed inwardly. She had only completed one room. She arched her back in a stretch and yawned pausing when she heard a muffled knocking. She followed the noise to its source: the front door.

She paused, glancing behind her as if to check if her husband was near. He wasn't; the foyer was dark and empty. She opened the door and frowned. No one was there.

"Hello?" she called. Her voice was lost against the howling winter wind.

No one answered. She squinted against the snow, but it was already growing dark and the porch light only extended ten feet into the distance. All that was visible to her was the blinding white of the snow.

"How strange," she said, shutting the door. She turned, the frown still plastered on her face, but stopped with a cry. In front of her stood a figure outlined by a slight glow. The figure stepped forward into the light and Samantha instantly recognized herself, a crazy grin smeared across her face. Her black, short hair was unkempt and her eyes shone a fierce purple. Her slim fingers were wrapped around the handle of a huge steak knife.

Samantha took a step backwards, her heart jolting, only to find her back pressed up against the front door. She choked out something unintelligible, unable to tear her eyes away from the apparition. The other Samantha thrust the knife forward towards her head. The real Samantha gasped and shifted away just in time. The knife had sunk halfway through the wood and, while her counter-self was busy pulling the knife out of the door, Samantha shoved her knee into her stomach and bolted.

"Danny!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Danny help!"

She sprinted towards his study and burst through the door, unable to keep her eyes from welling with tears.

"What the hell?" Her husband looked up from his paperwork to find her panting and out of breath.

"Danny—she's coming—she tried to kill me! She—" Samantha choked on a sob.

Danny didn't immediately understand. "Who?"

"She's coming—!" Samantha yelled frantically, shaking with fear. "My kitchen knife—she—!"

"Who is it, Sam?" Danny had yet to even move from his seat. "Who's coming?"

"A—a ghost! She tried to stab me in the foyer!"

Danny rose from his seat. "There _are_ no ghosts here," he said, his voice ringing with confidence.

Samantha broke out into tears. She hid her face from him with her hands and continued to shake. Danny made no move to comfort her. He left the foyer, dragging his wife by her wrist through the house.

When they arrived in the foyer, Samantha was surprised to see it empty. "She was here," she said, blinking away a haze of tears. She ran to the front door to find the knife mark. She traced the door with her finger, but it was free from even the slightest scratch. "She was here, I swear."

She spun when a growl erupted from her husband. His blue eyes were coursing with fury and his hands twitched at his sides.

"Danny, I wouldn't make it up," she whispered, her own eyes widening with growing terror. "You know. You _know_ I wouldn't."

"I don't—" Danny stopped when his voice cracked and Samantha cringed at the pure malice in his voice, "I don't know what you're getting at, Sam."

"Dann—"

"No!" His shout rang through the vast house. "Is it attention?" he asked. "Is that what you want?"

Samantha's eyes widened when he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a rough shake. "You're hurting me!" she yelped, shrinking away in his grip.

He gave her one more shove and released her. She fell, catching herself with her hands.

"I'll give you attention, Sammy," her husband said, his voice cracking again. "Just bother me one more time when I'm working, and I promise—all I'll be able to think about is you."

His dark tone chilled the marrow in her bones. She knew he wasn't referring to the attention she wanted. It was a different type of attention on his mind entirely.

He stalked out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

**11 PM**

"Hello?" Samantha was curled up in her favorite chair, phone in hand. "Hello? Vlad?"

The surrounding rooms were completely dark. The only light came from the lamp beside her, illuminating only half the room, leaving the rest in large shadows.

"Samantha?" came the surprised reply. "Is it Thursday already?"

"No." She couldn't stop the sniffle.

"It's Danny." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Samantha swallowed a sob. "He was really angry."

"He didn't hurt you, though, my dear," Vlad said. "Right?"

Samantha shook in her seat, trying to force back the tears. Her throat ached like she had swallowed something much too large for her esophagus.

"Right?" Vlad's voice was suddenly very urgent.

She shook her head, even though she knew the billionaire couldn't see her. "No, he didn't," she breathed.

"Then—?"

"I don't want him to be angry, Vlad," she said quietly. "Sometimes it scares me."

"_He_ scares you?"

"No!" she shouted. "He loves me. I know he would never hurt me. But—…."

"But…?"

"I think it's his emotions," she whispered. "He lets them control him."

A pause. "Your husband never was one for thinking before acting." She could almost picture him sitting all alone in his Wisconsin house. "If I may, my dear, I'd like to give you some advice—"

She waited for him to continue, but he never did. She waited, her brows furrowing when moments and then seconds passed by with no noise. She held the phone away from her ear when the dial tone beeped loudly.

She turned to the table to find the phone and found a finger holding the switch hook down. She looked up to see her husband looming over her.

"It's late," he said simply, his voice deep and ringing.

Samantha set down the phone. "Why did you do that?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I don't know what's happening to me, Sam." When she didn't answer, he said, "Come to bed."

She gave him an unreadable look.

"Please?"

She stood to her full height, a several good inches shorter than him. He walked his wife into their bedroom and together they lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

**Tuesday, 3 AM**

Samantha woke to an unending scream. She jolted to a sitting position to find her husband still asleep, but yelling at the top of his lungs.

"No!" was the only intelligible word he used in a string of consonants and vowels.

"Wake up!" Samantha shook him by his shoulders as hard as she could. "Danny, you're dreaming! Wake up!"

The yelling stopped and his eyes slowly opened. Splotches of wetness clung to his lower lashes.

"Sam—" he muttered, his voice hitching in his throat. "I—the most terrible dream—"

"You're all right now," she said softly.

"So—_horrible_," he went on as if he hadn't heard. "I dreamed—" He looked his wife in the eyes, his own widening in terror. "I dreamed I killed you."

Samantha recoiled from him as if his skin burned her. "It—it was just a dream," she said.

"With my own hands, Sam. I was _doing_ it. I can't—"

"I'm going to get a drink," she said weakly, sliding out of bed.

"No! Don't leave!" he cried. "I would never hurt you, Sam—you know I wouldn't!"

She left the room anyway.

**7 PM**

Samantha was still packing. She had completed boxing up half of the house. All filled boxes she moved to the front of the house next to the door to make it easier for when they left.

She ate dinner alone. Danny didn't appear once. After she cleared her plate, she washed the dishes and went to bed early. She couldn't sleep, so she stayed up all night staring in the dark at the ceiling.

Danny never came to bed.

**Wednesday 12 PM**

Samantha had just finished lunch when she heard a creak in the floorboards. She hadn't seen hide nor tail of her husband since early Tuesday, when he'd had the nightmare.

"Danny?" she called, expecting her husband to appear around the dining room archway. No answer.

The house creaked constantly, but no one ever showed. Samantha had never felt so alone.

**9 PM**

Samantha still saw no sign of Danny. Shivering, she drew her sweater tight around her arms and sniffed. She was going to have to find him.

"Danny?" she called loudly, but got no answer. "Da-nny!"

Soon she had searched every room in the house but one: her husband's study.

The door was slightly ajar; if he was inside, surely he would have heard her calling….

She hesitantly took a step towards the door. "Danny?" Samantha's voice echoed around the room.

She pushed the door open to reveal a large empty room, lined with books and papers and scrap metal. In the far corner of the room was a desk, angled to face the opposite corner. An open door on another wall revealed a dark closet with papers and a briefcase falling out of it.

Samantha neared his desk. There couldn't be any harm in simply looking at his work—the work that consumed most of her husband's life.

From a typewriter sitting on the desk protruded a sheet of standard patenting paper. The sheet resisted her pull, but after a particularly harsh tug, she was able to read what Danny had written. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Danny Phantom shouldn't have to work," typed on top of already printed words, was the first sentence. And the second sentence. And the third sentence. And the fiftieth sentence. She turned to a thick stack of typed papers next to the typewriter and flipped through them. The sentence filled the second page and the third page and the fourth page and the fifth. Samantha cut the stack in half to reveal that the 475th page was also filled with the same line. He had jumped off the deep end_._

There was a rustling of papers behind her, and she spun. Her husband stood, leaning against the closet door jam, a strange twinkle in his eye and an uncertain smile on his face.

"Hello, Sam," he said, his voice causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise.

Samantha backed away from the desk as he stepped forward. "Danny, what is this?" she whispered.

"It's my work, Sam," he answered, closing the space between them.

Samantha didn't allow him to get any closer; she backed away around the corner of the desk, a clear line between her and the door. She felt around behind her as she stepped backwards, and her hands hit cold metal. She pulled out from behind her a large ecto-gun and held it to her chest.

"Why?" was her pained answer.

He didn't respond, but took another step closer. Samantha found the trigger of the gun with her fingers and backed as quickly as she could out of the room, aiming the gun at her husband. Her heart broke as she did so and she whimpered as tears left streaks down her face.

"Don't come any closer," she said, waving the gun around.

"You're not going to shoot me," Danny said, still advancing. "Put that down."

Samantha began to sob. "Don't—hurt me!"

Danny's fingers twitched at his side and he laughed. "Darling, honey, I wouldn't hurt you," he told her. There was just a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Baby, Light of my Life, I love you more than anything in the world! I wouldn't _ever_ hurt you—I just…."

Samantha felt her heart constrict when his eyes glowed an ugly green.

"I just…," he paused, his face betraying an internal conflict, "want to bash your head in."

He held his glowing, tensed hands out in front of him, reaching towards her.

"Stop!" Samantha screamed, her fingers shaking on the trigger. "Stop moving! Get away!"

"Give me the gun, baby," he ordered, his voice echoing in her ears.

Samantha felt her heart break again, into tiny pieces. His pitiful eyes compelled her to give in and hand it over.

Danny stepped even closer, reaching forward for the gun. "Sweetheart, give me the gun."

His hands inches away from the barrel of the gun, she pulled the trigger. An ecto-blast hit his hand and he pulled back with a pained yell. He was holding his burnt hand close to him when she shot him again, point-blank, in the chest. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell with a sickening _thud_ to the floor.

Samantha looked down at her husband and sobbed. She loved her husband, but she knew, looking down at the malicious smile still on his face, that it was no longer her husband that lay before her. It was insanity.

**Thursday, 2 AM**

She had zapped him with the Plasmius Maximus, set for the maximum amount of five hours. She dragged him to a storage closet, even as he began to stir. He was heavy, but the tile floor made it easy for her to pull him by his feet. When she had only a few more feet to go, he began to groan in agony.

She pulled even harder.

"S—Sam?" he sputtered.

He was almost completely inside.

"Sammy?"

She dropped his feet and stepped over her husband to exit the closet. His fingers brushed her ankle.

"What're you doing?"

She shut the door with a clang and locked it from the outside with a small key.

"Sammy." His moan was muffled by the door.

"What?" her voice was broken and thin.

"Sammy, I think you've hurt me," he said. "I'm so dizzy—I need…a doctor."

"I'm…." Samantha couldn't hold back her tears. "I'm leaving, now. We'll get you a doctor when I have help."

Suddenly his voice was angry and shouting, making it clear that the only doctor he needed was a psychologist ready with prescription drugs. "You can't leave!" he laughed crazily. "You can't ever leave!"

Samantha blinked at the door, bolting from the room when Danny began to pound on it. She ran to the garage rooms and tried to find a vehicle she could use. She ran to the SUV room, ignoring the fact that she was morally opposed to such cars, and gasped. The hoods of both shiny black cars were open and broken wires dangled out. She slammed the door to that particular garage shut and ran to the next room. The helicopter room. She didn't know how to fly a helicopter, but she could learn. She jumped inside of the slick, black vehicle, only to find the dashboard literally dashed. There were slash marks running through it, and it crackled a little with the electricity of broken circuits.

She ran inside to find the only phone in the house: the one she used to talk with Vlad. She raced to the foyer and, picking it up, began to dial.

She held the receiver to her ear, but heard nothing. She looked down. The cord was cut.

She screamed a blood-curdling scream and threw the phone against the wall. There was no way to contact anyone. _Except…_, she told herself, thinking fast on her feet.

She ran to the kitchen and turned on the gas stove. Tiny flames burst into life from the surface and Samantha spun in search of something to trigger the fire alarm. She opened drawer after drawer to find something wood or flammable, but finally decided on a loaf of frozen bread she found in the freezer. She threw it, plastic and all, onto the stove and waited.

**5 AM**

The bread had started to smoke just as Samantha heard a distant, terrifying crash. She jumped to her feet. The door holding Danny back was down.

She tried to wave the smoke towards the smoke alarm, but to no avail. There wasn't enough of it.

"_Sam!_" her husband's voice echoed throughout the house. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

She ran, noiselessly and senselessly, from the sound of his voice and hid behind a sofa in the dark family room. From the kitchen from which she had just escaped, she heard footsteps and a laugh.

"Very clever, darling!" he yelled to make sure she could hear. "But I disconnected the fire alarm, too!"

Samantha ran from the room to her bedroom to get to the weapons supply in the closet. She dug through the closet for whatever wasn't broken. In the end, all she could find was a small, one barrel ecto-gun. She held it close and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

"Sa-_am_!" Her husband's voice made the walls around her shake. "Where _are_ you?"

She spotted the window above the toiled seat and tried to open it. It creaked slightly as it opened and stopped halfway. She stuck her head through, but her shoulders wouldn't fit. She pulled out and tried again to open it, but the window frame was jammed.

"I hear you!"

Samantha grunted in exertion, trying with all her might to open the window. A loud bang on the door made her jump. Another, and she heard the door crack. She shot at the window with the gun, wheezing in terror. When the glass didn't break, she struck it with all her might with the gun's titanium handle. A panicked sob escaped her when Danny's bloodied fist busted through the door. She struck the window again and this time, it shattered.

"I've found you!"

Samantha whimpered at the sound of his voice. One more bang and a panel of the door crumbled. The wood splintered open and she could see his grinning face.

She looked down from the broken window; she was very high up. Her husband punched the door one more time, blood splattering the tile floor, and it broke completely. With one last glance at Mr. Fenton, she jumped.

* * *

**A/N:** This is the second half of YNSB's post, edited. Next chapter should be arriving shortly. Thanks for reviewing!


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